


Dawn

by RKaoriL



Category: Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, anyway no one knows the real reason why they marry, i'm so obsessed with this pairing, so i just played with the worse situation possible, steamy heronstairs 2.0 are highly needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RKaoriL/pseuds/RKaoriL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was no poetess, but when Cordelia turned to James who had been watching her - his overcoat, overshirt, and other superficial garments off - and he looked at her with those burning gold eyes, she decided he was worth at least a few beautiful words.</p><p>A/N: Five part story told in Cordelia's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I'm so sorry for what you are about to read.

I. Poetry

 

Cordelia wandered, besides her nightstand, taking off the jewelry and placing it methodically in its box. A few steps from her, sat at the edge of their bed, James unties his garments and scratches his head, messing the already disheveled strings of black hair in his head that had been kissed by rain and wind.

She looked back to her jewelry, signing as she untied the laces of her overcoat and dropped it niggardly in the hatstand - it was not of her shape to develop romantic quotes to describe others, as it was of her parabatai. She was no poetess, but when Cordelia turned to James who had been watching her - his overcoat, overshirt, and other superficial garments off - and he looked at her with those burning gold eyes, she decided he was worth at least a few beautiful words.

 

_ I feel so tired _

_ Of looking at you, the sun _

_ When I can’t touch _

 

She thought first, but the haiku didn’t seem quite worthy of James Herondale at a second thought.

 

“Can you help me with my clothing?” she asked, knowing what would be his reply.

“Of course” he said, got up and went to her.

 

She turned her backs to him, holding her hair up to expose her back.

 

“Thank you” she said, as his calloused hands slid through the silky tissue, unbuttoning her dress.

 

“You’re welcome”

 

_ When I look at you _

_ By your bare sight _

_ I am being tortured _

 

Her dress slid through her body, revealing her corset and petticoat, heaping in the ground.

 

“Would you like me to untie your corset?” James asked, gently. Maybe a haiku would be a very shallow way to honor him.

 

“Yes, please.”

 

_ I look at you, as Icarus looked at the sun _

_ I’m seconds to your heart  _

_ And yet… _

 

_ “ _ Daisy” he said, as her corset, completely untied, was undressed and thrown away by his hands.

“Yes?”

 

He turned her so she would be looking at him, and again she was mesmerized by his sight - his long eyelashes, the curve of his mouth, the hollow of his neck.

 

_ And yet, to me you are the one. _

 

  
II. Torture

 

“Daisy” he said again.  _ Daisy, Daisy, Daisy.  _ Her name - well, nickname - was repeated countless times by his voice, as Cordelia closed her eyes again so she wouldn’t be blinded.

 

She felt as his hands traveled, careful, up and down her sides, as his fingertips caressed the skin of her arms, causing shivers down her spine.

 

“James” she said back, the name was like marzipan in her tongue. Slowly, he bent down to her and kissed both her eyes, taking his time.

“James” she repeated. She was unaware of the reason why. His skilled shadowhunter hands were untying the laces of her petticoat.

 

He kissed her neck.

 

She gasped.

 

James, she said.

 

Daisy, he said.

 

She opened her eyes, revealing James Herondale and the longing in his eyes.

It was torture, for both of them.

  
  


III. Second

 

James sat down in the edge of the bed again, bringing Cordelia with him. 

Sat in his lap, as she had been other times, James caressed her scalp under her hair as he took his time kissing her neck again, knowing she liked it. James was a gentleman, he wouldn’t have his way with Cordelia without being sure she was comfortable.

Cordelia bent her head back, giving him space to do as he wanted. It was not necessary to be careful with bruises, as an iratze would easily help them with that.

She gasped again, holding her voice as much as possible, as he sucked a spot particularly hard. He grinned to her, drunk by her reactions, and for the first time that night kissed her lips.

 

It was pure bliss.

 

She intertwined her fingers in his black hair, feeling the silkiness of it and delighting both of them as she traced his lower lip with her tongue. James groaned, hungry, pulling her closer and crashing his chest with hers, then pushing down her not-so-tied petticoat.

Cordelia groaned, pushing him closer by his hair and sucking his adam’s apple. It was not nearly enough so she traveled down, unbuttoning what rested of his shirt and discarding it. Soon, both of them were undressed waist up.

James held her waist, tracing the scars of long-ago marked runes she had there with his fingertips. Cordelia grind his hips, burning, and he kissed her eyelashes and caressing her hair with his free hand.

 

“I need you” he said, golden eyes closed. It was nearly a cry, nearly a prayer. 

 

Cordelia blinked, breathing in his sight.

“I need you too” she said, and kissed him.

 

_ I need you.  _

 

_ But not the same way. _

 

  
IV. Bliss

 

Since Cordelia Carstairs was married to James Herondale, she rarely had times of pure happiness or bliss, even when she was one of the few ladies who would have the fortune of marrying someone she was in love with.

It was not so fortunate, though, when your beloved one loves somebody else.

One of the ways to summon those rare events of momentary ignorance is to abuse her rights as Mrs. Herondale and have her way with James.

And that was what she was doing, that moment.

Cordelia pressed James’ chest, and as laid down in the mattress she straddled his waist, grinding his hips and stealing deserved moans from her beloved. James held her exposed ribs and pushed down, bringing skin to skin.

They kissed, turning in the bed, fighting over who was above. Suddenly, James held her down, his knee in between her legs, his hands pushed her wrist down in the mattress.

 

“You’re beautiful” he said, and Cordelia blushed as if she still were ten years old.

“You’re gorgeous” she said back, and she wasn’t lying, but James seemed truly surprised.

 

How could he, when he was the sunlight? As he neglected her hands in his wave of surprise, Cordelia freed herself and embraced his neck, sitting down so she would feel his chest against hers.

 

“You are gorgeous” she whispered in his ear “and beautiful. And smart. And funny.”

 

She pulled away so she would look at his eyes. Hers screamed  _ I love you, I love you. Please, say you love me too. _

He held her face in his hands and caressed her cheek with his tomb. James’ eyes were widened and his face had the same expression as when he said ‘I need you’, as if he was dying of her.

But Cordelia knew better than to have false hope, and neither of them said those three words.

They had never said it before.

 

He kissed her again, but this time was different. It was so full of affection and longing her insides simultaneously rejoiced and cried. 

 

It was excruciating. 

 

The moment of bliss passed away.

 

  
V. Consolation

 

One of the ironies of Cordelia’s life was that James constantly broke her heart, and yet, he was the one to comfort her every time. 

Cordelia assumed that this irony wasn’t one-sided. She wasn’t the one James’ heart beated to, but his compromise to her was one of the reasons he would never be able to stay with whom he really wanted to, and yet, he could forget those stormy eyes of Grace when he was consumed by pleasure.

 

Or at least, Cordelia hoped so.

 

James hand traced down her skin, going through her chest, her breasts, her ribs, her stomach. 

He traced circular patterns in her waist, traced her scars and old runes, then he caressed her inner thigh.

His eyes were asking permission, and she loved him for that unwavering chivalry. She nodded, and then his fingers were inside of her, and she was moaning again as the tension build up again, and he was kissing her neck again, and-

 

“Daisy” he whispered, and bit her ear. She gasped for air, and then he was kissing her again, and her hands were trying through his waistband, but his belt was way to fit.

James groaned, and bit her lip ever-so-slightly. Cordelia couldn’t take it anymore, so she turned him in the bed and straddled him again.

 

Her eyes were business, and James understood and removed her petticoat completely - it had been hanging in her hips that whole time. She opened his belt, graciously, pushed his pants and knickers down and kissed his hipbones.

 

They exchanged looks.

 

_ Make me forget, James.  _ She sat down in his groin, he was inside her.  _ Please, make me forget.  _ She grind and arched towards him, fiting her head between his shoulder and head and exhaling his bittersweet scent. 

 

_ Let me forget your eyes.  _

He scratched her backs.

_ Let me forget your hair. _

He kissed her shoulder.

_ Let me forget your mouth. _

He held both her hands above their heads, intertwining their fingers.

_ Let me forget you. _

 

She cried and arched up instinctively, reaching the edge. He sucked her neck, bringing her up with him.

Sweat rolled down her back, like if her whole body was crying. In the pure bliss, she allowed herself to cry for the boy that would never be hers.

 

Cordelia came down, still intertwined with James, realizing he had climaxed as well. They both held each other to sleep, both having what they wanted the most, but not quite.

 

The nightmares came that night, as usual, so both ended up holding each other, awake and in silence, until dawn.

 


End file.
